Void
by MockingVenus
Summary: A fanfiction for a fanfiction, this is the fan-made sequel to Dissatisfaction by CrowsGurl (available on as well, an excellent story I highly suggest reading). Requested by TelchineAqualode, my favourite sea-dweller.


Emptyness is a curious thing. From the seething vermillion tendrils clawing their way from nutrient sack to heart, to the utter silence alotted within one's own mind, emptyness is an ever consuming void. Your name is Equius Zahhak, and you realize now that you are void.

It has been three sweeps. Three excrutiating sweeps. Three sweeps since you last saw your ebullient neighbor, Miss Serket; and life is starting to become, acceptable. Though your nights are still rough, either from the incessant wailing of Spidermom, bemoaning the apparent loss of her grub, or the lurid dreams that haunt your slumber, you manage to compose yourself day by day. Yes, sitting on the edge of your lawn ring, staring into the chasm, you compose yourself day by day.

Day, by day, by grievous day, staring into the chasm, day by day.

At night, through your lugubrious misrest, you often amuse yourself with thoughts of what would or could be. Sinking deeply into your recoupracoon, you try to imagine what you would do if that certain neighbor suddenly returned. Would you be lifted, raised up from the unsurpassable void you'd become? You doubt it. Even if she had heard your anguished cries, you heavily vacillate in the hopes that Miss Serket would be curious enough to respond. She had whisped into your life as quickly as she had left it, leaving no stone unturned. What use would she return to you for? She had heard all of your stories, as you had hear all of hers. Being gone for this long, there was no doubt in your mind that she had found someone to make the arm she truly desired, perhaps someone of a caste higher than yourself... What was left for her to return to?

By day, you've taken up the habit of making yourself acquaintanced with the high-bloods living by the shore, their hives gleaming with a certain idiosyncrasy that makes you smile. It may not reconcile your four-chambered blood pump, but a distraction from the tenantless vacuity in your abdomin is always welcome. Keeping an eager ear for any relevant news, you never falter in keeping within the good graces of these trolls. You have been visiting them for nearly four months; but it has only been two months to the date from your discovery upon the crested ridge of the waterside.

_You kneel down, your long hair shielding your back from the horrendous star Alternia orbits. Fingers, trailing distantly in the sand, you are sure you saw something glinting in the midday light. You feel drawn to it, compelled to find out what was shimmering so brilliantly in the dark muddy sand. A thin lamina of perspiration, hued colbalt begins working itself up as you carefully work. The shifting tide working against you, you all but give up on the search. A friend of yours calls you back to their hive, wondering why in the world you'd go rushing into the waters like that, but you earnestly ignore them. Finally, your straining fingers grasp within the murky depths what feels to be something grasping back. Shocked, you fall backwards, reeling the object into your lap, your jaw hanging open in horror. _

_ You run home, hands bleeding from the vicious beating you've given the dismembered robotic limb. No one quite understood the aimless rage you had exhibited towards the object, but keeping in their graces was now the last of your worries. Aurthour asks repeatedly what is wrong, but you shut him away. No one can see you now. No one can hear you, and you need to escape. _

_ You scream, running to the edge of your lawn ring, gripping your skull in a hemic hold, allowing oceanic droplets to percolate from your pain-ducts. You fall to you knees, throwing whatever is within arm's reach into the chasm. Your nutrient sack constricts as you realize that it will bever be filled. The chasm housing the constant reminder of what has become. The void in your chest. The gap between you and your elusive neighbor. Your voice, hoarse with rage, cracks and shatters under the stress of your baritone screams. Arms, caked in filth, you collapse into yourself, a sobbing mess. _

Two months have passed, and acceptance constantly seems just over the next horizon. Your associates strangely enough never bring up the incident (perhaps all assuming you'd momentarily gone mad?), and life resumes. Your now nightly conversations with Nepeta seem to soothe the blisteringly raw hollow you call a chest. She distracts you with innocuous scribblings of hoof-beasts and arrows, sometimes drawing you into the picture wielding a mighty bow while riding an even mightier beast. These musing beguile you, sometimes even taking your think-pan off of your troubling memories; and you find that sleep is becoming less and less of a chore. You think that you might actually be... ok.

A month has passed, and you realize that you will in fact survive. You spend most of your nights sleeping, with the occaisonal upset from spider mom or a night terror slipping its way past your defenses. Though Nepeta has seemed to waver her interests elsewhere, you find that you don't need her quite as often as you once did. Your moirallegiance remains as strong as ever, however you've had to accept that with such a strong bond, trust must be established for her to roam as she pleases. You've given in that she's a wild beast, full of life and vigor and needs her space, so you persue more aristocratic means of socializing.

Your friends on the shore have shifted many times, leaving you always with new stories and adventures to hear of. You've grown comfortable living in your own carapace once more, and no longer use their stories for temporary distractions, but for lasting entertainment. You believe you can live off of this life style, feed from it, and develop into a new troll.

How wrong you are.

As you sit in the living quarteres of a cobalt-blooded acquaintance, you leer about the group, noticing an unfamiliar face. Strangely enough, he seemed to be an actual sea-dweller, his obnoxious purple hair and glasses pushing themselves into the outer ring of trolls listening to the stories. For some reason you find yourself staring. Why does he look so... familiar? You haven't time to correct yourself before he shoots you a dirty look and slinks his way into the center of the circle, demanding his own monologue be heard. Your chest tightens as he begins to speak in a waving accent, about his run in with the Grand Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. You hear of her daring deeds and adventurous endeavors, all the while compelling the vomit in the back of your throat to stay in place. The pressure builds within you as you hear word after irritatingly accented word from the sea-dweller until you can stand it no longer.

Up until now, you've remained silent; so it comes as quite the shock when you assert yourself up to the center and grab the salty troll by the shoulders, raising him to eye level. Glaring harshly into his orbits, you demand in a deep monotonous tone, "Where is she?" Taken aback by the sudden force, he rolls his eyes, his form trembling, giving a disconcerned answer. "How should I know? She sailed off days ago." You drop him to the ground, no longer able to hold the contents of your nutrition sack down. Running to the door, you narrowly escape the plethora of questions and accusations before exposing your breakfast to the inhabitants of the lawn ring. Taking a moment to steady yourself, you run back to your hive, unsure of the frantic impulses you suddenly allow to control you. You call Nepeta pleading for her to return to your aid, your nightly exhaustion never setting in. Every single wound, sutured shut, was now torn open wide for the world to see. Your emptiness has been filled with ambiguity and distress, and you're not quite sure which you prefer. Nepeta stays the night, then the week, addressing your malady before finally finding you fit enough to care for yourself as she returns to her wild enterprises, leaving you alone in a world of thought.

You wonder about many things. Where is she now? What is she doing? Who had given her a new arm? A cistern of both fear and hope begins to fill in your chest. Gog help you if she were to ever return. How could you possible react? More importantly, what would she think of you? You are a disgrace to your past vindications. No longer do you pride yourself on appearing professional, a man of high class, but rather you wake up, grab whatever is within arms reach, and begin your day. Surely, she'd understand that you don't have the energy for much else? You feels the insatiable clawing of the emptiness in your nutrient sack sinking its hooks deep within your chest. Gog help you.

Months have passed and you are unsure of how many. Time has lost meaning to you, and you care not about exactly for how much you have left. It isn't until a familiar call and rapping on your door awakens you from your pensiveness that time truly stops all together. "Equiuuuuuuuus!"

You scramble to your feet, staggering your way to the door in a race against your own hesitations. Could it possible be her? You stand behind the door, sweat collecting on your palms as you are unsure of was to do.

"Equius?"

Your hand clenches onto the doorknob, nearly breaking it off as you swing the door open wide. She's taller, is the first thing that comes to mind. Look how tall she's gotten. Nearly as tall as you are now... She's taller. Your think-pan is now broken, blind, and blank. You realize your inability to react is do to your disbelief, however you manage to croak out a few words before noticing she has no arm.

"Is... it you, Vriska?"

She lets out a light laugh, asserting to him that "Of course I'm the one and only Vriska! Now are you going to stand there slack-jawed or let me in?" You step aside and she takes a few proud strides past you, her pirate garb fluttering behind each step.

Before you can even close the door, she pipes up, her tone cheerful. "I need a new arm, hopefully one as good as the last one you made." Brushing aside her area of your work table, she hops onto it as if she'd never left. She begins a long monologue, none of which you can hear, as you march forward, deafened by your anxiety. She stops for a moment, giving you a queer look as you plant yourself before her, raising two quivering arms to her shoulders and ensnaring her in a vice grip. Your eyes, lock onto hers as you hold the most intense internal battle you've ever fought.

"...Where were you?"

She seems surprised by your questions, taking a glance at the hands now constricting her into place. "What do you me-"

"Where were you!?" You shout, rage filling every ounce of your breath as your digits tremble against her shoulders. She gives you a fearful look before trying to pull herself away, proving all but fruitless. You finally have her within your grasp, and you'll be damned if you'll let her get away. Moments pass on as eternities as a silent battle rages between she and yourself. At long last, you give in, breaking eye contact, lowering your head, hands ever firm.

"...what, What the Hell is wrong with you?..." She stares in disbelief until you raise your teary eyed face, unmasking yourself for the fool you are. It seems apparent now that she understands your motives, a grimace plastered to her face. You loosen you hands and back away, taking a seat on the stool. "...I apologize..."

You spend the night in quiet conversation, listening intently to each detail of every exaggerated story she tells. You will prove her wrong. There will be no more gratious audience than what you have trained yourself to be. Every now and then, she falters, feeling rather uncomfortable seeing what you've become due to her absence, but always regains her emphasis. Late into the night, you offer her your recoupracoon which she takes without reservation as you lay rigidly on your bed.

Before the dawn can even arrive, you are up, preparing yourself for her to see. You refuse to let her see you in such sorry shape for a second longer. Staring into the mirror, you begin seeing someone you once knew. A strong troll, masculine and chivalrous, unending in his pursuits to better himself. It gives you the cofidence you need to still your shaking hands and face her.

You exit the bedroom to see her sitting on the nutritionblock counter, rambling nonsensically to Aurthour about the food on her ship, as he happily listens, bemused as he prepares their morning meals. Catching sight of you, she lets loose a grin, commenting on how long it finally took you to get out of the room and 'entertain your guest'. You nod with a light smile and begin a light conversation as you both ingest your morning meal.

The day rolls on heavily as your conversations grow thicker and thicker . You ask her why she had left and she graces you with a simple shrug. "I wanted to get out and explore the world. Besides, what's better than the freedom of living on your own pirate ship?"

"You couldn't at least tell me?"

She exhales in a brisk sarcastic laugh. "Why would I tell you?"

The comment particularly burns and you try to change the subject. "What happened to your arm?" You stare at the tied off sleeve, caked in blood from whatever idiotic situation she'd gotten herself into.

"It was nothing, just a run in with a group of sea-dwellers. But speaking of which, how soon do you think you can make me a new one?"

You begin to sweat, fearing exactly what you think you're understanding. Standing, you turn away from her, facing your workbench, head raised in a stoic poise. She'd only just gotten here and she wanted to leave again? "Why do you need a time estimate?" Your voice is just above a whisper.

"I'll be leaving as soon as it's done."

You feel nauseated all over again as sweat literally drips from your face. "Then I'm afraid, Vriska." You turn to face her. "That I'll never be done." You stare at her with pleading eyes and she shifts uncomfortably in your gaze. Her jaw hangs slightly, as the pieces of the puzze fall into place before her.

She leaves you in silence, as she returns to her hive. You spend the night suffering and sick.

She returns to you in the morning as if nothing had happened, bright and cheering you onward to making her arm. Leaving only as the sunsets, she urges you to work through the night, which you promptly ignore. Sitting alone in your lab, you begin dissassmbling the days progress.

She returns the next day, dissappointed that there is no additional progress to be seen, yet stays with you until sunset once more. She repeats this pattern for a week straight before finally giving up on returning to her hive, once more demanding your recoupracoon. You gladly comply.

A month has passed and though her arm is complete, she hasn't left you. You sleep soundly at night, often being so bold as to nudge yourself into the recoupracoon behind her while you think she is sleeping. A certain happiness has returned to your life, and it shows through your phone calls with Nepeta. She comments often about how much happier you seem and frequently urges you to make a move before your window of oppurtunity closes. Sadly for you, you never notice the silent giggling from the eavesdropper listening in from the phone in the living room.

At times you both sit at the edge of your lawn ring, looking down into the chasm. Spidermom happily churrs and squeals whenever you do so, thrilled to have Vriska back. What once felt so empty and calloused was now nothing more than a reminder of times past. You once more feel heat pumping through your body as opposed to the twisting bitter sickness in your gut. For once in the longest time, you feel happy.

You realize, as she rests her head upon your shoulder, that the void has been filled.


End file.
